


I've Just Seen A Face

by star_named_andy



Series: 1972 [1]
Category: The Hobbit (1977), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 1970s, 70s, 70s lingo, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barduil - Freeform, Legolas will be here later too guys, M/M, Modernish, alfrid - Freeform, and some other peeps, bagginshield, explicitness to come, hippie!Thranduil, hotdaddyforeigner!Bard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 02:51:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3793906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_named_andy/pseuds/star_named_andy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summer of 1972 was a summer where an unexpected romance bloomed in part of a war-stricken world, all thanks to chance…well, and Bilbo Baggins. Bard Bowman, a man who left his home in Laketown, England and abandoned his life as a poor shipyard worker to begin anew in America with his three children, and Thranduil Oropherion, a man consumed by his need to fuel the anti-war front and raise his son, both somehow end up in one of the most ridiculous places together: a roller disco. Only their friend Bilbo is to blame for this, but from there, what grows between the Englishman and the hippie is all their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Just Seen A Face

**Author's Note:**

> This fic, loosely based off of the film Across the Universe (I stress the word "loosely"), is for the Barduil Big Bang on tumblr and has been split up into several parts since it turned out to be so damn long (the requirement was 10,000 words but mine turned out to be more like 50,000). There will be 8 parts and I'll attempt to title each one after a song from The Beatles' Across the Universe album! I so hope you readers enjoy this modern-ish fic! :)
> 
> A beautiful piece of cover artwork done by mysterymeat666 on tumblr can be found in the last chapter of this fic and here (original post): http://mysterymeat666.tumblr.com/post/117048102375
> 
>  
> 
> (Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, or any of its characters or content.)

_\--- Bard ---_

The year was 1972. Bard Bowman wiped a trail of sweat beads from his wrinkled brow and smiled as the dismissal horn blew across Laketown Shipyard. The wind blowing off the water was bitter cold and the bleak sky was dull grey, but to Bard Bowman, today was one of the brightest days he had seen in years.

He strode with extra pep in his tired legs as he joined the flood of workers starting their trudge home. Fatigue ridden and downtrodden, the mass of shipyard laborers trekked along slowly, occasionally bumping someone beside them. No one complained if the guy next to them drifted in his balance and brushed against their shoulder; everyone was too fatigued and too understanding of the plight of others to care. Despite the empty looks they held in their droopy eyes, they were all eager to just make it home in one piece and relax. For those who had a family to return home to, relaxation before the wife and kids came flooding in for attention was vital. Bard himself had three darlings of his own waiting for him at home with luggage packed and ready (or so he hoped).

Bard waited patiently in the line at the coat-check booth and when he finally came to the front of the line, he was face to face with the coat-checker Alfrid’s unibrown.

“Bowman.” Bard spoke. It was part of the item checkout procedure to give your last name, even though Alfrid knew many of the names and faces of the shipyard workers by now – he _especially_ knew Bard’s and that fact didn’t please either Bard or Alfrid. Bard was _known_ for stirring things up around the Laketown shipyard as he often went to the master of the shipyard for years to demand better working conditions and wages, and Alfrid was always the one to hear the master complain about it. Alfrid shuffled off to a cubby hole along the wall in his booth and plopped the cubby’s contents on the counter.

“Card.” Alfrid stated and put out his open palm. Bard arched an eyebrow curiously.

“My card?” he questioned and Alfrid gave an overly disgusted sigh and a roll of his eyes.

“It says on file that today is your last day on the schedule, so I need your card. Its protocol.”

“Fine by me.” Bard reached into a pocket inside of his dark blue jumpsuit and pulled out his work identification card. Alfrid snatched it from him and Bard scooped up his belongings and the envelope containing his last payment that Alfrid slid over.

“Enjoy your trip to the states, then. You’ll be back.” Alfrid sneered with a mocking, blackened grin and Bard shook his head.

“I’m not sure about that, Alfrid.”

“Next!”

As Alfrid called for the next man to come forward and collect his belongings, Bard swiftly slid out of the way and slipped on his worn tan suede jacket with a faux fur collar, his frayed fingerless gloves, and his long cream colored knit scarf. He pulled the scarf close to his nose and inhaled the scent that lingered deep within it. It was the smell of his late wife that permeated the scarf and the same smell still lingered faintly in his home. After today, the scarf would be all he had left of her warm, wholesome scent.

As he came to stand before his little brick built home, he gave a nostalgic sigh. It had been twenty long years of having less and less room in the house as three beautiful children began crowding the space. Bard could remember walking through the threshold of the house that stood before him with his wife and Bain and Sigrid for the very first time after they were born, and he could remember bringing Tilda home alone.

‘It’s what she would want.’ Bard thought, and it was true. He and his wife had dreamed and plotted for years of abandoning their impoverished and strife-ridden lives in Laketown, England to set off for America. Now the pieces of their life-long dream were coming together with just one piece missing.

As Bard scanned over the house and marveled at how it was still even standing through his continuous repairs, a small head popped through the front window curtain and quickly disappeared. The front door came flying open and Tilda, dressed in her favorite red coat and cloche hat, came darting out and latched straight onto Bard’s legs.

“Whoa!” Bard exclaimed as he wobbled.

“DA, YOU’RE HOME!” she shouted and tilted her head so her powder blue eyes were glistening up at her father. He bent, noticing the ache in his back, and proceeded to lift her up into his arms. “Goodness, I never get such a homecoming! What’s the occasion? Are you just especially excited to see me or just excited to leave?”

“Both!” Tilda replied and Bard chuckled.

“Good! The car will be here in an hour.”

“An _hour_?” Tilda whined and leaned her head back dramatically.

“It’ll go by before you know it and then we’ll be on our way to the ship.”

“Okay, but I’m keeping my coat on.”

“Whatever you want, darling.”

Bard carried his youngest into their bare shell of a home. It was completely empty, with the exception of the peeling wallpaper and the mountain of boxes, bags and suitcases blocking off the narrow stairway to the right and most of the walkway into the living room. To the left was the small kitchen and straight ahead was the spacious living room which was the largest room in the entire house. Bard had slept on a flat mattress in the living room when Sigrid turned six. Tilda was two then and had been sleeping in the same room as Bard since she was a baby, but Bard knew that Tilda could not stay with him permanently and he  needed to tend to the woodstove during the night. And so when Sigrid turned six, Tilda and her started sharing a bedroom, Bain moved into his parents’ old room, and Bard moved downstairs. Bard thought he would have a bit more privacy downstairs while the children slept upstairs, which wasn’t the case since the only bathroom in the house was in the living room. Needless to say, there weren’t many moments when Bard was alone. He loved all of his children deeply, but he cherished his moments in the bathroom, since those moments were the only ones he had completely to himself – and every parent needs at least a few moments of solitude a day.

“Hello!” Bard announced as he set Tilda on her feet and Sigrid, with a flushed face, entered from the kitchen.

“Hey, da.” She greeted and tucked a curl that had strayed from her tight braided crown behind her ear.

Sigrid was always very meticulous about her hair and Bard never quite understood why; perhaps it was because Sigrid had always had simple tastes, or maybe it was because her mother was the one who taught her how to braid and Sigrid went on to teach Tilda. Sigrid always pressed upon Tilda that braids were the most practical style for girls with longer hair that were always running around like Tilda was. More than once Sigrid had chased Tilda around the house to tie her hair up before going to school, since Sigrid had been so upset by Tilda coming home with hair knotted by the wind.

Tilda and Sigrid both looked more like their mother than their father with their dark blonde hair and their blue eyes, but Sigrid had the same thin face and greyish blue hued eyes as her mother. She wore a purple blouse and a long, high waisted grey skirt.

“Is this everything?” Bard asked absently as he examined the stacks of luggage.

“Yes, da.” Sigrid answered.

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_ , da.” Sigrid said rolling her eyes and setting her hands on her hips.

“Did you check your closet and dressers, Tilda?” Bard questioned.

“Mmmm…I think so.” Tilda answered.

That wasn’t very believable. Bard raised a skeptical brow; he had enough experience to know that when a kid said “I think so” it almost always meant “I can’t remember, but probably not”.

“Yes, she did.” Sigrid interjected. “She checked and I triple checked every shelf and drawer. I triple checked every single room in the house, including Bain’s – actually, da, _you_ were the only one who left something unpacked.”

“Me?” Bard asked in disbelief and spun around to see Sigrid dangling a red dragon keychain from her pinky with a smug smirk.

“ _Ooo_!” Tilda giggled.

“I remember this!” Bard said with a smile curling on his lips and he took the keychain from Sigrid’s finger. He gazed at it with a fondness, not for its value, but for its age and the memories attached to it. “Where did you find this?”

“It was in your drawer in the bathroom. It was tucked under the paper lining – what is it? It can’t be _that_ special if it was that lost.”

“No, I wouldn’t say its _special_ , but it does bring back a lot of memories. I found this my first day working at the shipyard. It was stuck to the side of this ship that came in that had been auctioned off. It belonged to a corrupt business man that went bankrupt by the name of Smaug; Smaug the stupendous, the unassessably wealthy, the tyrannical, the terrible – he went by many names. This was one of his little advertising ploys, but he went under when he got caught embezzling money from the American company Erebor. He’d been doing it a long time, too.”

“Who’s embezzling money?” Bain asked with his shaggy brown curls bouncing as he came down the stairs with a tapped up cardboard box in his hands. He definitely looked more like Bard than his mother, for he and Bard shared a lot of the same facial features, hair color and texture, and eye color. He was wearing one of his usual outfits: a big flannel button up shirt and a denim vest that matched his jeans. He stretched his leg over a row of boxes to get to the others and then found a spot for his box.

“Da was telling us about a guy named Smaug that was embezzling money from the Erebor company…da, what’s embezzling?” Tilda said.

“Embezzling is stealing.” Bard answered.

“Ohhh.”

“Erebor – isn’t that your friend Bilbo’s husbands company?” Sigrid asked and Bard nodded and slipped the keychain inside of his jumpsuit pocket where he kept his work identification card.

“Yes, Thorin. He and Bilbo are the ones we’ll be staying with when we get to America.”

“Wow! If he owns the whole company, I can’t imagine what his flat looks like! It must be huge!” Bain said excitedly.

“All I know is what Bilbo told me, and that’s that there will be plenty room for us all.” Bard said. “No matter what their house looks like, we will be good and polite guests, understood?”

“Understood.” The three answered.

 

An hour later the car, which Bard had spent the last of his savings on (since he had bought  green cards and the boat tickets before hand), arrived as promised. The driver helped them pile in all of their luggage and Bain, Sigrid and Tilda only fit in the backseat because Tilda sat on their laps. Before settling in the passenger seat and driving away from his home for the last time, Bard took a moment to feel the old bricks that had held up so loyally for twenty years. His fingers ghosted the rim of the doorknob and he smiled.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow…goodbye old girl.”

It wasn’t long before they had bumped along all of the road that led them to the docks. As the Bowman’s cargo was loaded onto the ship, Bard realized there was definitely no turning back now. He could sense that his children were feeling the same nervousness that he felt as they trudged up the entry ramp; Tilda, who was the most excited to be going on the life changing adventure, was quiet and doe-faced. He squeezed her hand and tried to reassure her with a warm smile.

Sigrid had been the most apprehensive about leaving England of the three and Bard could understand why. All they ever knew was in England; they only knew how to speak, act, live and work like English folk and their few relatives, companions and the home they grew up in would be left behind. Their future in America was unpredictable and the transition would not be an easy one to make. Would it be what Bard and his beloved wife had dreamed of? Would it satisfy the needs of his family? Would it be too glamorous like all the rumors said? Or would it be nothing like he ever imagined and heard?

A loud horn sounded as the boat parted from the dock and started to drift forward. The Bowmans stood united at the stern of the boat, the water between them and England growing wider with every advancement the boat made through the sloshing water below. Sigrid leaned her head on Bard’s shoulder and Bard put his arm around Bain and a hand on top of Tilda’s head.

“It can only get better from here.” He said surely. In Bard’s mind, there was no option for disappointment. He whole heartedly believed life would be better, and so he would make it that way.

 

After four days on the ship, the first sign of Oakenshield hospitality was waiting for them at the unloading dock when they arrived. As Bard heaved and dragged boxes to the top of the ramp, he kept looking over his shoulder to make sure none of his children, who were also hauling luggage, had strayed. He herded them along to the top of the ramp and when he looked down, he saw a sleek black Cadillac, a just as lustrous Chevy truck behind the Cadillac, and three men dressed in sharp suits holding up signs that read “BOWMANS”.

“No way! That’s for us?” Bain spoke in astonishment as he stood beside Bard and saw the same marvel waiting for them below.

“WHOA, COOL!” Tilda shouted and sped down the ramp. Bard stumbled down after her as fast as he could manage and called for her, but she ran straight to the man by the Cadillac. His black and white peppered hair was short and modest and his brown eyes radiated kindness. He beamed a friendly grin under his mustache which was curled on the ends as he ushered Tilda into the car. Bard, Bain and Sigrid were swiftly greeted at the bottom of the ramp by the two men who were posted by the truck.

“Hello!” spoke the tall, bald headed man and he firmly shook Bard’s hand. His mustache and beard were light brown with streaks of grey in the beard and his blue eyes were very firm. “You must be the Bowmans – welcome to the United States. Names Dwalin.”

“Yes, that’s us. Thank you, Dwalin.” Bard said and the other man shook his hand as well. His light red hair was neatly slicked back, but his eyebrows were wildly extended with the ends pointed upward. His green eyes were fleeting and didn’t stay connected to Bard’s long as he gave his short  salutation.

“Pleasure to meet you. Nori.” He muttered.

“Pleasure as well, Nori.” Said Bard and his eyes widened as his boxes and bags were promptly taken from his grip.

“Let us get these out of the way for you, sir!” Dwalin said and everything in Bard’s arms was whisked away and loaded into the truck.  He tried to carry the remainder of the items to the truck himself, but every time he took something from Bain or Sigrid, either Dwalin or Nori would appear and take it from him. “Wait – I can – let me!” Bard pleaded, but he was kindly ignored and all of the baggage was tidily stacked in the back of the truck and ready to go. Bard spewed off endless words of gratitude. Bain and Sigrid didn’t mind Dwalin and Nori’s generous help at all and gladly slipped into the back of the Cadillac with Tilda. The driver opened the passenger door for Bard. He seated himself inside and was immediately astounded by the comfort of the leather bound seat.

“Oh wow,” Bard said aloud and the driver chuckled as he climbed in on the other side.

“Like the car, do you? I like it a lot myself - Mr. Thorin has good taste! If you like the car, you’ll _love_ the house. You must be Bard - I’m Bofur, official Oakenshield chauffeur, so we’ll probably be seeing a lot of each other during your stay! Oh, and welcome to the states!” The driver rattled off. “Actually, I’m the only one of us three attendants that is a _professional_ _chauffeur_ ; Dwalin and Nori back there are part of the security unit. Mr. Thorin said ‘They don’t have too much, so just send two’ but Mr. Bilbo _insisted_ all three of us come to help you back to Oakenshield Manor.”

 “ _Security_ unit? Oakenshield Manor? You’ve got to be kidding!” Bain blurted and Bofur shook his head with a laugh.

“Not at all! Just you wait and see. Speaking of seeing, we ought to be going to do any seeing of anything. And we’re off!”

The Cadillac pulled away from the dock and started along a road surrounded by trees with leaves that exploded with vibrant color. Bard couldn’t recall a time he had ever seen something so green and fresh and alive looking. He laughed heartily as Bain stuck his head out the window and let the wind whip through his curls.

For an entire hour, all the car’s company had erupted into song. It started with Bofur entertaining them with some American songs, none of which the Bowmans had ever head, sung acapella. Tilda tried joining him in the chorus each time, but couldn’t remember all of the words and was wavering with the notes. Bofur took this as an invitation to teach the Bowmans a thing or two about American songs, so he repeated the songs over and over until Bard, Sigrid, and finally Bain joined in. Sigrid and Bain had been initially reluctant and very quiet, but as Bard let out his full glorious singing voice, they were encouraged to belt out the notes louder, even if they weren’t quite on key (this was especially true for Bain). They were all practically shouting at the top of their lungs through their hysterical laughter until they reached a most effervescent and bustling city. The splendor of the shining skyscrapers, the sparkling cars and the pedestrians in their crisp suits and colorful dresses stunned them into silence.

 “This is Hobbiton, one of the finest towns in all Shire District! The Oakenshield Manor is just on the outskirts of Hobbiton, so it won’t be long now.” Bofur announced.

As they cruised through the cluttered streets, Bofur pointed out the most notable, popular and upstanding venues varying from restaurants to shops and finally to business oriented buildings. One of the tallest and greatest of the business facilities was the Erebor company building with a sizable outlet store right next to it.

“Is that where Mr. Thorin works?” Sigrid asked.

“Indeed it is.” Bofur answered.

“It’s huge!” Tilda commented.

“Monumental!” Bain added.

“What does the Erebor company do anyway? I mean, what do they make or sell?” Sigrid inquired.

“Erebor designs, manufactures and sells fine furnishings, crafts, jewelry, and just recently men’s dress clothing. The men’s clothing line was Mr. Bilbo’s idea and it’s been going over so well, that Mr. Thorin and Mr. Bilbo may be launching a line for women as well. Erebor also does other things, like sponsoring charities and politicians – that kind of thing.”

Bofur guided them out of the city and into a calmer, more tree-dense area.  There were a few nice houses spread throughout the quiet area, until they reached Bag-End Way. The dead end road only hosted one enormous home that was hidden behind high iron gates.

“Oin! I’m here with the Bowmans.” Bofur spoke, hanging out of the window as he rolled up to a voicebox outside the gates. There was a pause.

“What’s that?” a voice on the other end spoke gruffly.

“I’m here with the Bowmans.” Bofur repeated, this time more loudly…another pause of silence.

“ _What_?”

“The BOWMANS! I’m here with the Bowmans, Oin!”

“ _Oh_ , the Bowmans! Opening gate.”

The gates began to swing open and the Cadillac rolled smoothly forward. Bard’s mouth hung open as they were immersed into a mystical world and there were audible gasps from the back seat.

Before them stood a pure white antebellum styled mansion enclosed within a tall, neatly cut hedge that went around the entire property. The mansion was almost like a decorative centerpiece in the middle of the immense garden that surrounded it. The lush flowers that enraptured Bard’s eyes were safe within the confines of their low cut hedge borders; there were pink and white peonies, multicolored tulips hued pink, orange, yellow, white and purple, and white and purple lisanthiuses. Around the tall hedge that surrounded the land’s perimeter were blue, white and purple hydrangeas which flowed from the tops of their Greek-Corinthian column stands. Through the hedged sections of flowers were brick pathways where a man wearing a sun hat stood. He waved with gardening sheers in his hand.

“Hello, Dori!” Bofur called and waved as he pulled around the circular driveway and up to the front steps of the mansion. Dwalin and Nori behind them beeped to Dori as they passed him and stopped behind the Cadillac.

Bard stepped out first and stared up at the mansion in awe – the _mansion_ …MANSION. Bilbo had told him that there would be plenty of room for every one of them to live comfortably, but he had no clue that living comfortably meant living in a gigantic _mansion –_ a _manor_ , so Bofur called it! He felt his palms beginning to coat with sweat as he gawked at the towering, gorgeous mansion and he suddenly became awfully aware that he was still in his shipyard uniform (dirty boots included). He didn’t dare track muddy prints through this pristine looking house!

As Bard was reveling in his thoughts, a head flashed by the rounded window on the green double doors before they flew open. There was Bilbo, cheeks as red and hair as curly as ever.  He wore a burgundy suit with a brown vest, matching leather shoes, and a golden ascot. A silver band on his left hand and ring finger glittered. His deep blue eyes twinkled wildly as they fell upon Bard and he hurried down the steps and flung his arms around Bard; he always had been a hugger with people he really liked – that much Bard remembered.

“Oh, you’re here! You’re finally here! Bard, it’s been ages my old friend!” he spoke jovially and Bard pat his back as he laughed along with Bilbo’s glee.

“Yes, it has!”

“Let me get a good look at you, now.” Bilbo said and examined Bard’s face closely with a nod. “Still just as handsome, but working too hard, I see! You have more wrinkles since I last saw you.”

“Oh, come on now. You can never work _too_ hard – and wrinkles come with age! And kids, of course, but they’ve been worth it.”

Just then Bilbo’s sight fell upon the three children shuffling from the car and his eyes swelled with adoration.

“They certainly have been worth the trouble – look how beautiful you all are! Goodness, goodness, let me look at you all!” Bilbo said and Bard followed him as he scurried over to them. He had a moment of breathlessness as he looked at the girls. “You girls look just like your mother.” he breathed and they both smiled proudly.

“Thank you, Mr. Bilbo.” Sigrid said shyly and Tilda uttered a thank you after her. Bilbo wagged his finger.

“Just Bilbo, or Uncle Bilbo if you so like, but none of this ‘Mr. Bilbo’ business.”

“I like Uncle Bilbo!” Tilda cheered.

“Good! Uncle Bilbo it is! And you,” Bilbo said looking dumbfounded at Bain. “You look like your father! It’s unmistakable and remarkable, really. You kids are so fortunate; so good looking, so fit and tall and healthy! A little thin, perhaps, but we’ll fix you right up. The last time I saw you…Bain, you must have been five or six.”

“Five.” Bard corrected.

“And then Sigrid was four and Tilda you were a little baby just born!”

“We’ve met before?” Sigrid questioned.

“Oh yes, but I didn’t expect you’d remember. It was ten years ago.”

“You have a really nice house, Uncle Bilbo!” Tilda said and Bilbo gave a small chuckle.

“Why thank you, Tilda. Come now, all! I’ll show you the inside and then we’ll have brunch!”

“You go on. I’ll catch up and help these two gentlemen with our baggage.” Bard said. Bilbo’s brows fixed into a point and a noise of disapproval rumbled in his throat.

“Nonsense!” he spouted. “You are far too humble, Bard. Let someone do the grunt work for once! You don’t mind, do you Dwalin? Nori?”

“Not at all, sir.” Dwalin replied.

“I’ll lend a hand and we’ll have it all in and up in a jiffy!” Bofur added, and despite Bard’s protest, Bilbo dragged him inside.

The interior was magnificent, as expected and a knot twisted in Bard’s stomach as he took it all in. The foyer was wide and adorned with exquisite paintings and furnishings made of ebony wood. One of those furnishings was an elegant looking coat rack where the Bowmans each hung their outside dressings.

Bilbo led them forward into a corridor where there was a hall to the left, a hall forward, and a staircase to the right. As Bard gazed upward, his lips hung open in astonishment as he saw a chandelier hanging from the ceiling that draped down like a waterfall.

‘This is all so unreal, so brilliant…I had no clue what kind of wealth these two shared! If I had known, I would have never accepted their help – well, I suppose it’s better to take from someone who has enough rather than from someone who doesn’t, but I can never repay this debt. It’s all too grand!’ Bard thought.

He was truly in awe and overwhelmed with disbelief and gratefulness; everything about this new land he had found himself in just hours ago was turning out to be spectacular beyond belief and it just kept becoming more wondrous with every second that ticked away.

“I didn’t know what you all liked to eat or drink,” Bilbo began, breaking Bard from his fixated trance on the opulent chandelier. “So I just had absolutely everything arranged that I could think of! There are blueberry, raspberry, chocolate chip, banana, and banana nut muffins, cinnamon, white powder, plain, glazed and chocolate donuts, bagels with and without seasoning, assortments of cream cheeses, butters and jellies, apples, oranges, grapes, bananas, strawberries, potato chips, corn chips, and turkey, ham and chicken sandwiches, teas, coffees, creamers and sugars, milks, juices…I think that’s everything.”

“My god, I don’t think I could eat all that if I tried!” Bain exclaimed.

“Oh, I don’t expect you to eat all of it! Of course not! But we won’t be the only ones picking away at it – Thorin and I and all who work here will have a go at it and that should put a good dent in it all. Whatever can’t be saved in the end will be donated.”

“Bilbo, a less lavish meal would have sufficed us just fine. Please don’t go on spoiling us – this is all too grand.” Bard cut in and Bilbo stopped, looking back at Bard with a worrisome stare.

“Don’t you like it?” he asked with just a bit of hint in his tone, indicating his instant concern that the Bowmans weren’t pleased with all he presented them with. “I wanted to make sure you were comfortable here.”

“No, no.” Bard said quickly with a wave of his hands. He gently took Bilbo aside and Sigrid waved her siblings further into the corridor to leave the two adults to converse in private. “I didn’t mean to give offense, I just…you don’t have to do all this.” His voice dropped into a quietness as he spoke and Bilbo’s eyes turned soft and understanding.

“I know I don’t _have_ to do anything, I _want_ to do it. Let me pamper you, Bard! You have worked very hard all your life and you did not come all this way for me to let you bust your back the second you stepped foot on the land.”

“But Bilbo, _really_. We’re fine without all of the pampering.” Bard pleaded kindly. He appreciated Bilbo’s help to no end, but his head was swirling with how overwhelming all of the grandeur was.

“I know you’re a simple man at heart and it kills you to relax and I know just what you’re thinking; you don’t have to repay us for any of this. It’s a pleasure to have you and the children here. Frodo is grown now and off in college and so are Thorin’s nephews - it was getting a bit lonely in this place. How about this: repay us by enjoying yourself the best you can.”

“Bilbo that’s very kind, but-” Bard was swiftly cut off by Bilbo wagging his finger in his face.

“Yes its very kind indeed; thank you for agreeing to my terms! You are _such_ a polite guest! Now please keep being polite and scoot yourself into the dining room for a nice brunch!” Bilbo concluded, forcing the conversation into an end and practically pushing Bard further along into the mansion with the children eagerly following to fill their hungry bellies.

 

_\--- Thranduil ---_

The sunbeams seeping through his translucent violet curtains were unusually bright this early afternoon and were the cause of Thranduil’s second awakening that day. As his ice blue eyes fluttered open from sleep, he knew what mood would dominate his day: active aggressive.

It was not at all unusual for Thranduil to wake and have this sensation; he had become very skilled at detecting his moods from the moment he woke and he could detect whenever his mood changed throughout the day, but his moods usually remained fairly constant once he had established his particular disposition for the day. He had been doing this for years and he had come to the conclusion that he had five different moods: active aggressive, passive aggressive, indifferent, melancholic, and happy. The temperaments he experienced most of the time were all but happy – happy was a very rare mood of his. His typical best was indifferent and he despised that fact, but not as much as he despised waking in such an infuriated state as he had done upon this waking.

This was the second time Thranduil had awoken today and this was ritual of every week day. He would rouse himself to bring Legolas to school and somehow make it there and back home without falling asleep (he was not much of a morning person). He would return home and fall back into a slumber for a few hours before being up for the rest of the day. In a few hours, he would have to pick Legolas up from his last day at school before his summer vacation started.

Thranduil grunted as he struggled to untangle his legs from his blankets and threw them off the bed. As he rose, he stretched out his arms before stamping over to the window and letting the sunlight illuminate his bedroom.  The rays of sunlight exposed the vast colors that ornamented his room; his dark violet walls were covered with Buddhist prayer flags, tapestries of the tie die, peace sign, yin yang, dove, sun, moon and star assortment, and David Bowie, The Beatles, Pink Floyd, Grateful Dead, and other band posters hung there too. Stacks of journals, papers, and vinyl records were scattered about the room and the faint scent of incense still hovered in the air.

Thranduil stomped over to his closet and stripped out of his sweatpants, leaving him nude except for his brown and green choker necklace and his hemp and leather bracelets he neglected to take off the night before. He pulled on a pair of moon and star boxer briefs, a white peasant shirt with green flowers sewn around the deep cut collar, and a pair of high waisted bellbottom jeans. He grabbed his round framed, violet tinted sunglasses and knocked over the incense burner that had been balancing on the edge of his vanity dresser.

“I hate waking up angry.” he grumbled as he bent and picked up the burner before stalking off into the bathroom. It was true that he loathed waking up in this manner. He hadn’t always been this way and he struggled with his fading memories of how he used to be when his emotions weren’t so constantly heightened and brash.

He vigorously brushed his teeth with his homemade toothpaste and ran a comb through his long platinum hair a few times before heading into the kitchen. The telephone on the wall was his target. He spun the dial easily, for he knew Thorin Oakenshield’s office phone number by heart.

“Erebor company President Thorin Oakenshield, please hold.”

“Don’t put me –” Thranduil was cut off by a clicking tone and he gave a roll of his eyes as the same old unbearable elevator music played to fill the silence. He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Thorin to come back on the line.

“This is Erebor company President Thorin Oakenshield. Thank you for holding. Who am I speaking with?” Thorin’s voice rose. He sounded like a suave diplomat as he spoke and Thranduil tried not to snort.

“I’ll be there in thirty.” Thranduil spat out.

“Thranduil?” Thorin’s voice suddenly tightened and he grumbled.

“There’s the uptight Thorin Oakenshield I know.” Thranduil mocked.

“Thranduil, I don’t have time for your antics today. I have important business to attend to. Please stop blocking the line!”

“I said I’ll be there in thirty. I’m on my way now.”

“Thranduil, dammit - !”

Thranduil promptly hung up the phone and grabbed his keys from the hook by the door. He shut both doors, the solid and then the screen, but didn’t bother to lock up the house before climbing into his green Volkswagen van and puttering away from his little bohemia in Mirkwood.

It was a forty minute drive from the small hippie infested town of Mirkwood to Hobbiton for any driver who respected the speed limit, but Thranduil said he would get to Oakenshield Manor in thirty and he meant to be on time at any cost necessary. There wasn’t much clutter on the Mirkwood roadways, so speeding along wasn’t risky.

As his van went whirling by the homes of Mirkwood blaring music, the people standing out on their lawns would wave to Thranduil. They weren’t offended when he didn’t acknowledge them, for they knew how Thranduil was with his moods. Thranduil was a popular figure in the town and practically a hero of the hippie movement, so no matter what attitude Thranduil was baring on any day, the people adored the one thing about Thranduil that never changed – his fiery, passionate core that held him together and fueled him to do everything he did, whether it was caring for his son or speaking out for what he and the hippie community believed in.

On his way into Hobbiton, Thranduil switched from his cassette tapes to the radio to tune in on the broadcasts regarding the ongoing war – he needed to stay updated and vigilant on everything that was going on in order to properly serve as a figurehead against the war. More dead, more lost, less recovered. The more statistics the speakers on the radio rattled off, the more heated Thranduil became. By the time he reached Oakenshield Manor, he would be the definition of fire.

Thranduil soon plunged into the symbol of American capitalism that was Hobbiton. The sight of its glimmer disturbed Thranduil on the days that he wasn’t feeling indifferent. He was very familiar with the city and the people within it that always either ignored him or cast slurs at him for speaking in public and protesting the war. He could feel glares from the street piercing through his windows as he endured the stop-and-go traffic, but that didn’t keep him from blasting his music.

The immense and luxurious structure that was Oakenshield Manor now faced him as he bumped forward through the open gates. He was surrounded by the rush of Bilbo’s well-tended and beloved front garden. The gardens which he had helped Bilbo plan were the only thing about Oakenshield Manor he admired. Everything else was too much for him.

He swung his van swiftly around the rounded driveway and cut the brakes quick, making him jolt forward as he stopped. He pulled out his keys, the song “Revolution” by The Beatles ceased, and he whipped off his seatbelt. As he emerged from the van his ring of keys and keychains clinked to the ground. With a frustrated groan, he bent and his hair fell over his shoulder like a curtain. Before his fingers could snatch up the key ring, it had been taken by someone else.

Thranduil looked up abruptly and had expected to see Bilbo looking back at him, but instead there was a stranger standing there…an incredibly handsome stranger.

“Uh…hello.” The man uttered in a thick British accent and flashed an adorable grin.

‘Ohhh man. I’m in trouble.’ Thranduil thought once the man smiled at him. He raised a curious brow and lowered his glasses to examine the man more thoroughly; a denim button up shirt that matched ripped jeans, worn out boots, skin that was naturally tanned, light hazel eyes that were both murky and captivating, a lean build, a thin and modest mustache accompanied by a small chin patch and a neatly trimmed beard that crept all the way around his jaw, and finally there were beautiful wavy locks of brown that rested on the man’s shoulders.

“Hello.” Thranduil finally replied with a lulling tone and intrigue flaring in his eyes.

“These belong to you,” the man said with an amused smirk as he eyed the many keychains on Thranduil’s key ring and handed it over.

“Yeah, thanks…you’re not the usual gardener.”

“Oh, I’m not a gardener at all. I fear I’d be a poor gardener – I hardly have the time for it. I’m visiting. I’m a friend of the Oakenshield’s – well, more so Bilbo’s than Thorin’s.”

“Me too, me too…” Thranduil trailed off. He imagined that he and this man had different reasons for being friends more so with Bilbo than with Thorin, but the thought of Thorin crossing his mind reminded him of how angry he had been all day as he anticipated the meeting with Thorin that was due to be commencing any moment now.

‘Wait…something is off.’ Thranduil thought. In reminiscing about his unpleasant mood, he realized that he didn’t feel so livid anymore. His mood had shifted and it had slipped past his radar, but now his irritation was slowly creeping back as he pondered how he didn’t notice such a thing. He felt dumbfounded and thrown off by something as trivial as not detecting when his temperament had shifted. It was all bizarre and somehow upsetting.

‘What does it matter? I have this wonderful eye candy to give my attention to right now.’ He thought, shaking off his discomfort.

“Are you far from home?” Thranduil asked.

“Very far. I’m from Laketown, England. This is actually my first time in the states.” The man answered and Thranduil nodded slowly as he slipped his hands down into his pockets.

“Cool, cool. Welcome. How do you dig it so far?”

“Uhm…dig it?”

Thranduil gave a soft laugh at the man’s confusion.

“It’s just some slang. To dig something means you like it – get it?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I’m just trying to adjust to everything.” The man said rubbing the back of his neck.

“Don’t sweat it. Now you’ve got some new American slang under your belt.”

“Yeah, thanks for that. It might make blending in a little easier.” He said and gave that cute beam again. His smile was so sweet it could kill.

“Blending in is lame.”

“And probably impossible with my accent and all.”

“It’s a nice accent.”

The man grinned and gave a small chuckle.

‘Stop doing that!’ Thranduil thought, reeling over the man’s constant beaming and he was eating it up. ‘Wait…did I just say ‘it’s a _nice_ accent’? What the hell is wrong with me?’ Thranduil suppressed an annoyed grunt; how uncool of a thing to say.

“Thank you. It’s all been kind of overwhelming so far, but it’s also been…out of this world. Especially this flat! I couldn’t believe it when I saw it.”

“Mm, yeah.” Thranduil muttered as he looked up at the looming mansion behind them. “It sure is something. I like the flowers though.”

“I love them!” the man said with his voice rising and Thranduil looked back at him with widened eyes. “They’re brilliant. I’ve never seen color so alive in all my life. I was actually admiring them when your van came through. Bilbo said that you helped him create all of it.”

Thranduil felt a soft smile forming on his lips.

“I did. It was a long process; Bilbo is very fickle when it comes to his flowers. Some he didn’t like because they looked too prickly or unfriendly or they just didn’t look full enough. The outcome was worth the trouble, I’d say.”

“I’d say so too. I’d like to lay among them if I could, but even then I think I’d ruin them somehow.” For a moment, Bard’s gaze looked distant, as if he were seeing vivid pictures in his head invisible to Thranduil. He wanted to see whatever it was the man was envisioning. “Your music was actually what caught my attention.”

“I’m sorry I disturbed your groove.”

“No, no, I like music too. Sorry – you’re Thranduil, right?”

“Either you’re psychic or Thorin was complaining about me.” Thranduil said diffidently. He laid his hands on his hips and shifted his weight to one side.  

“Complaining is a...harsh word.”

“It’s alright. I’m used to it, but yeah, I’m Thranduil.”

“My name is Bard.” As he said this, Bard extended his hand out to shake Thranduil’s and Thranduil gladly took it, but he just let his grip linger as he looked deep into Bard’s eyes.  He truly was _adorable_ , but there was something about him…his lips, his eyes, his skin, his hair, the way that he stood so confidently, his air…something about him that hinted at a hidden sexiness.

“Bard… _Bard_ …your name reminds me of music. I dig it. Maybe you were a musician in a past life. Thranduil means ‘vigorous spring’, you know.”

“Does it? I think it suits you.”

“Oh really?” Thranduil questioned, quirking a brow. “Why’s that?”

“I’m not really sure. It’s just a feeling I have.”

‘He seems very genuine…hm.’ Thranduil thought and Bard gave a more awkward grin. Thranduil then realized that he was rubbing his thumb over Bard’s wrist. He suddenly let go, hoping he hadn’t made Bard uncomfortable.

“Listen, I’ve gotta hit it for now. I have an appointment to keep. I’ll see you around.” And Thranduil meant to see him again. As the two parted, Thranduil flipped his hair so that it fell across his back and sauntered up the front steps with an extra sway in his hips in case Bard happened to be looking. It seemed that a bit of fortune was smiling on Thranduil today despite his mood, because now he predicted there would be a little fun to have with the attractive Bard in the near future.

As Thranduil disappeared behind the green double doors and he was welcomed by the glamour of the Oakenshield home, he settled back into his active aggressive attitude. He was there on a mission – the fun would have to wait until a later date.

Thranduil went straight through the ornate foyer and into the main corridor, taking a left and pursuing the hallway down to the door which fashioned a gold plate that read “PRESIDENT THORIN OAKENSHIELD”. Thranduil tapped his knuckles on the door while opening it simultaneously. As he entered and was greeted by walls of books, Thorin raised his head from his papers. His stone grey eyes were narrow and already critical. He was dressed in royal blue trousers with a blazer matching in hue over his black turtle neck. His short and neat cut black hair tainted with a few stripes of grey was combed back and his beard covered every sharp point along his defined jaw.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you never wait for a response before entering. I wonder why you even bother to knock.” Thorin spoke lowly and pushed his papers into a manila folder. As Thorin fiddled with the folder, Thranduil took a seat in the leather cushioned chair before Thorin’s desk and swung one leg over the other casually.

“It’s been a while since you last barged through my door. What is it this time?” Thorin asked, folding his hands.

“I’ve decided you’ve been idle for too long.” Thranduil started declaratively. He ignored Thorin’s habitual eye rolling and tucked his sunglasses on his shirt. “You have been neutral throughout the entire span of the war thus far and you have never clearly stated your position on it; neutrality bears no progress. Instead of indifference, you should put your resources toward the just side of the cause.”

“What a very bias thing to say.” Thorin responded flatly.

“It’s not bias, its truth.” Thranduil refuted, his eyes now darting over to the tired looking president. “I know a man of your reputation _couldn’t possibly_ agree with the notion that President Saruman sending off young boys into a war we shouldn’t even be fighting is _just_. You do have two dear nephews of your own, after all. I know for a fact that if _they_ happened to be drafted into the war-”

“Thranduil, don’t start with this again-”

“If they happened to be drafted into the war you would exhaust all your assets to ensure that they never stepped foot on Vietnam soil.” Thranduil finished loudly, trampling over Thorin’s words. He knew that the mention of Fili and Kili was a good way to tap into Thorin’s emotions and if they were acrimonious ones, so be it. A response was what he needed. Thranduil gave a wave of his hand. “My mistake…of course that would never happen, seeing as you have your fingers on enough strings to prevent them from even being considered for drafting. Not everyone has such a luxury.”

“Enough of the jabs. Just get to it or I’ll have security escort you out.”

“I thought we were past that.” Thranduil said with a smug smirk and Thorin’s veins were beginning to pulsate. Thranduil arched a brow as he saw a beautifully assembled plate of pastries and fruit on the corner of Thorin’s desk. It was far too pretty looking for Thorin to have assembled it. “What’s this? A peace offering?”

“From Bilbo. By all means.” Thorin said and Thranduil shrugged.

“I wouldn’t want to be rude to _Bilbo_.” He said and ignored Thorin’s scoffing as he popped a grape into his mouth.

“Listen Thranduil…you are a dear friend to Bilbo. I don’t wish to make relations ill between us over this.” Thorin said more calmly and Thranduil pursed his lips.

“This isn’t about Bilbo or us for that matter – it’s about those people dying that could be saved! I don’t get why you’re being so stubborn on this! You act as though you have no power whatsoever!”

“I do have power, I admit, but it is nothing compared to that of the _president of the United States_! No matter what I do, Saruman makes the decisions; I’m just a business owner. And I didn’t always have power, as you _surely_ remember. If you were in my position you would understand that those who have power, especially those that have had it taken from them before, cannot be frivolous with it. Erebor has only just recently been fully recovered after that bastard Smaug’s conniving and I refuse to put the future of my company and my family in danger – you don’t realize how much I could lose if I give a statement on the war!”

“Like you already don’t have enough wealth stocked up, you know? I’m not saying that you’re going to change Saruman’s mind, but it has to start _somewhere_ with _someone_!”

“Be rational; there is no way you could fathom what kind of pressures I undergo.”

“I _am_ rational.” Thranduil rasped.

‘Don’t lose your temper.’ Thranduil thought to himself and took in a deep breath.

“You don’t have to put yourself into any position that will put your precious company in danger, alright?” he pressed on. “I have it all planned out. You don’t have to make a statement about the war or anything. My idea is that Erebor _sponsors_ an event. You sponsor stuff all the time, no big deal.”

“Other companies sponsor things all the time too. I don’t see you kicking in _their_ doors.”

“That’s because my foot is already in yours. You’re they key to this operation and you can save thousands of lives.”

“Thranduil-”

“Just think about it. The event would be like a big concert with musicians and jewelry and art vendors advertising the anti-war front. We can have face painting for kids-”

“No, Thranduil.” Thorin said shaking his head. “Your efforts are admirable, but again, I have to say no.”

After twenty five more minutes of Thranduil hopelessly trying to wrangle Thorin into his plans, Thranduil ultimately decided he was done with the conversation and stormed out of the office in a short-lived fury. The fury was suddenly bumped out of him and simmered down to an aggravation as he ran into Bilbo.

“Oh – Thranduil! I knew you were coming, but I hadn’t heard you come in.” Bilbo said and Thranduil rubbed his temples. “No luck this time around, I’m guessing.”

“You guessed right.” Thranduil sighed.  “If I can leave with the cogs turning in his head, that would at least be a small victory.”

“He’s very stubborn, but maybe one of these days he’ll have a change of heart. Who knows?” Bilbo said encouragingly, giving Thranduil (who towered above him in height) a pat on the back, but Bilbo’s words didn’t provide any comfort. Thranduil had several tactics that he had used on Thorin to convince him to do this and that, but nothing _ever_ worked…ever. Thorin was too used to Thranduil’s strategies; his approaches included direct attack, persuasion through benefit, guilt trip, and amicable. The amicable approach was the one in which Thranduil was best behaved, for he tried to show how respectable he was by flaunting friendliness and intelligence, but Thorin knew better.

“Maybe.” Thranduil agreed shortly.

“You’ll think of something new, I know so. Temporary defeat, that’s all.”

“Whose side are you on anyway?”

“I’m not on either side.” Bilbo said with a cheeky smile. Thranduil wasn’t sure if he believed Bilbo or not. “Enough of the business talk. It’s been some time since you last rolled in. What have you been up to?”

“Plotting mostly. Aside from that just fathering Legolas, writing songs, poems, playing guitar, hanging out…the usual.”

“Oh _Legolas_!” Bilbo’s eyes brightened. “How is the boy? I think it must have been soccer season when he last visited.”

“He’s doing well. Good grades and all that still. It’s his summer vacation as soon as I pick him up from school later so I can bring him by sometime if he wants.”

“Good! Please do ask him because I have a friend staying here who has three kids with him. They could get acquainted before the next school year starts; I don’t know where he’s planning on sending them for school. He probably doesn’t have any plans yet because they just moved from England _today_ , but I’ll nudge him toward Legolas’ school. It’s a fine school. Frodo enjoyed his years there, after all.”

“Bard’s children?” Thranduil questioned quickly and Bilbo raised a brow.

“How on earth did you know?”

“I had the pleasure of meeting him earlier. He was admiring your front garden when I pulled in.”

“Was he?” Bilbo beamed proudly with delighted rosiness coming to his cheeks.  “I’m glad he’s enjoying himself! To give you the skinny, he doesn’t come from much and he works himself to the bone; such a good, honest fellow, really. I’m trying to give him a little comfort while he gets back up on his feet but he’s quite stubborn about it. I’m sure you’ll meet the children – in fact I think I hear one coming now.”

Bilbo had heard right, for then a young girl came down the stairs into the corridor. Thranduil guessed from her drooping eyes and the hair sticking up out of her braid that she’d been enjoying an afternoon nap. When her bright blue eyes found Thranduil as she approached, she stopped cold and raised both brows. She blinked.

“ _Wow_. You’re tall!” she said and Thranduil let out an involuntary laugh.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“You’re even taller than my da, and he’s the tallest man I’ve ever seen.” She had more pep in her step as she came in closer and leaned against Bilbo.

“Morning sleepy head! Have a nice nap?” Bilbo said rubbing her head and she nodded. “Tilda, this is my friend Thranduil. Thranduil, this is Tilda.”

“I think I’m supposed to shake your hand.” Tilda said taking Thranduil’s fingers in her hand and shaking his arm.

“Oo, strong grip you got there little bunny.” Thranduil said and she arched a brow.

“Little bunny?”

“It means little cutie.”

“Hey, thanks!” Tilda giggled with a pink glow coming to her cheeks. “You’re cute too. I like your shirt.”

“Thank you. You’re in an awfully good mood for someone who just woke up. I don’t come across people like that often.”

“I’m just a nice person I guess.” Tilda shrugged and Bilbo laughed quietly.

“Isn’t she something?” he commented.

“Your hair is so pretty. Can I touch it?” Tilda asked and Thranduil knelt down willingly.

“You may, if you want.”

With wide eyes she stroked her fingers through his smooth hair and she giggled.

“It’s so soft! And you smell good too. I thought Uncle Thorin said hippies were dirty and yucky?”

Bilbo sounded a noise of distress, but Thranduil just laughed it away. He was amused by her honesty and energy.

“I like this.” Tilda said pointing to Thranduil’s necklace and then she gasped and poked at all the bracelets he wore. “And these – wow!”

“If you like them so much I can make you one.” Thranduil spoke.

“ _Really_? You made these?”

“Some of them, yeah. What’s your favorite color?”

“I like red and blue.”

“I’ll see what I can come up with.”

“Thanks Mr. Thranduil!”

“Just Thranduil is cool.” Thranduil rose back to his full height and with short goodbyes, Tilda pattered off to change her clothes to something more suited for outdoor play.

“She sure is a firecracker.” Thranduil commented with his smile fading away.

“Well now that you’re making her a bracelet you have to come back sometime soon.”

“What about the mother?”

“Oh, yes.” Bilbo said with a hushed tone and his expression turned very grim. “She…she passed away due to complications with Tilda’s birth eleven years ago. Tragic, really, so tragic…a lovely woman she was.”

“Mm.” Thranduil muttered, thinking of his own late wife who had vanished from the earth just five years prior.

“Tilda and the kids aren’t the only ones who could use a friend right now,” Bilbo said with his tone rising back into its normal cheeriness. “Bard doesn’t know anyone either and you’ve already met. Perhaps you can find a companion in him.”

“I was hoping the same.”

“ _Oh Thranduil_ ,” Bilbo said with his brows furrowing. He wagged his finger and pursed his lips. “When I say that Bard could use a _friend_ , I mean just that. A friend.”

“What are you implying?” Thranduil asked shifting his weight and setting his hands on his waist.

“All I’m saying is Bard is not the type of guy who follows your same pattern of…. _intimate_ life. I’m not saying you have to put yourself into a deep, meaningful romantic relationship with him-”

“I didn’t say I was interested in him that way.” Thranduil corrected, but Bilbo gave him a skeptical eye. “Alright, master detective. You caught me. What can I say? He’s cute. Does he like men?”

“Uh…actually, I’m not sure. As I was saying, you don’t have to be in a relationship, BUT!”

“But?”

“ _But_ , Bard is not the type to have a fling, so I would highly appreciate it you treat him gently either in friendship or…I don’t know if you would be interested in something more serious.”

“And what if he says otherwise?”

“Then don’t believe him.”


End file.
